Ever seen a fat Dalmation? Neither had I. Not until I met Domino. Domino, this dog here:

...well, Domino kinda rocks. He is, um, big boned. To see him run is almost the funniest thing you could ever do. It makes you understand what they mean when they say lumbering. He used to love to run after my little rat dog. Domino (as you can kind of see above) is a very stylish dog. He proudly sports his Burberry collar for all to see, and doesn't care that the other dogs tease him for being so damn metrosexual. Thanks to some good anesthesia, a scalpel and a neck-cone thingy, he really isn't much of anything-sexual anymore. And he doesn't care.

Domino is viciously protective of his very VERY hot owner, Russell. If you happened to stumble into Russell's apartment all drunk hoping to, I don't know, catch him naked or something*, Domino would not think twice about licking and licking and licking you until the sheer joy stopped your beating heart. If that didn't work, he would certainly not be above bombarding you with soft, fluffy toys that would give you no choice but to play with him until you collasped from exhaustion. That's loyality.

Thunda-Russell used to have a job that took him out of town frequently. Domino used to have a sock-eating obsession. I have always held that Domino only ate the socks when left with a sitter, and then only to see the look on the sitters face the next day when a full, undigested athletic sock popped out an inappropriate orafice filled with unmentionable things. I have had the privilege of witnessing this, and I assure you, it scars. For life. Domino must have thought it beyond hilarious.

Anyway, my point here is that the bad hip and the 13 long years finally caught up with my dear friend. The Alzheimer's took him, just like it wil take you, and he moved on to greener, more celestial pastures the other day.

Let's all take a moment for Domino, the single coolest dog ever to walk the Earth. Goodbye, old friend. May you dream of large bitches.

*not that I would ever do anything like that. But, I hear this guy might.

Dude, seriously! The baby this and the baby that, I can't even stand to listen to myself talk anymore. So I have dedicated today to a post completely cute-baby free. A sophisticated, grown up post.

Let's talk about my T (thought you were off the kid-hook for a sec there, didn't yah? Bitch, please!) My T, who just this very morning stood at the top of the stairs sporting nothing but his Superman tightey-whiteys and with more than a little grandeur, holla'd, "TXU in the hiz-zouse!" I kid you not. He really did. My TXU. Did I ever tell you he changed his name in preschool to TXU? He thought an X would be cool in his name, so that's what he decided on. It has not waivered since. My T, the man who just switched to tightey-whiteys after 4 years as a boxer-man because, well, he couldn't manage to keep his little willy straight in his pants the way he liked. "Mom, my PENIS won't stay PUT!" (Which is fine conversation at home, maybe not so fine in the middle of the mall.) My poor little middle child, who has not made a friend of his own yet, but goes out every single day anyway and tries so hard to play with this group of kids who are all way older than him and totally pick on him but let him hang around because he has really cool toys.* My boy, who yesterday was at a kids house playing, walked up to kids mom and said, "I'm really hungry." She asked what his mom was making for dinner and he said, "Oh, stuff. I guess. Can't you give me a CARROT or something?" She said sure. He instructed her on how to use that thing to take the peels off the carrot. He told her not to chop it up. "I just want a normal, big carrot", he said. Then he said thanks, ma'am, and went back to playing. She thought this was the single funniest conversation she had all year. T, who won over the president of the PTA 2 years ago by coming up to her during a playdate with her son and for no apparent reason at all said, "Ms. Michele, I lo-ve your slippers". And then he walked away, back to playing. She would buy him a pony or the moon if he asked. My TXU, who sang along to Ghetto Bastard with me this morning, who really REALLY wants to be allowed to say the F word and likes to tell me every word he knows that rhymes with it.

He will be the kid who catches the crawfish, pisses off the crawfish, and then drops the salamander in the jar just to see the pissed-off crawfish rip it to shreds. He will feed seagulls Alka-Seltzer, he will huff Sharpies, he will knock up your daughter. And he will crack you up while he does it.

I love this kid. Today, while B played Runescape (my 8 year old, playing MMORPG'S - yep, that's a story for another day) I got to teach my little dude how to play hockey. And I think he actually got it, at least he got the whole holding-the-stick bit. Damn, that kid has an arm. An arm and a damn fine eye. You will see him in the N something L someday. He kept yelling out to me, "Mom! See! I AM a Canadian! I am!" My neighbors hung their heads. I couldn't have been more proud.*see post below for source of said toys

Just for the record, I do not have a crush on Andy*. I do, however, have a great big fat throbbing sort of crush on this boy. I link you to his blog, not because he's actually blogging, but so that you can see his picture. His don't I look all grown up in my tie picture. If you knew him, you'd know why this makes me giggle.

Since you don't know him, let me tell you a little bit about him. He is really cute, and he smells fantastic. A long time ago, when I used to get his key to his apartment occasionally to feed his fish while he was out of town, I would be known to open his door just a crack (cause going all the way in would be creepy and rude and shit, yo), just far enough to get my nose in, and take a big sniff. Boy smells yummy. He really likes Kip Dynamite, and though he acts like he's only pretending that he wishes he was Kip, I know and he knows and now you know that he kinda really wishes he was more like Kip. He is super smart. He reads books whose titles I cannot pronouce, I think he speaks some other dead language, he knows all the answers on the crossword puzzle but still lets me get a few so I feel like I'm doing well. He is equally as loving to my dog as he is to me, which either speaks volumes for his capacity to love or makes him a big fat jerk who treats me like a dog. He really, truly loves my kids. No doubt. He would stand in traffic for them, he would give up a Friday night out picking up chicks to play Scrabble with them. He buys them the f'ing coolest presents on Earth. He cooks, and he loves green chili powder. He drinks PBR and sleeps on his tummy when he's drunk. Maybe he just passes out on his tummy, I've never stuck around long enough to find out. He plays the bass, the guitar, the piano, the drums and the XBox. He is really self-conscious about his hair, but he shouldn't be - it is totally his best feature. He likes things clean but doesn't require that they always be. He hangs his clothes on the hangers in the opposite direction I do and it drives me nuts. He gives a banging good neckrub. He likes to work out, and wants to eat heathly, but doesn't. Sorry baby, living solely on chips and salsa is not eating heathly, no matter how organic they say those chips are. Eat a burger, man. He has good, kind, interesting, respectful friends, like Eddie, who totally wants to make out with me but has never ever once tried. Respectful. Or maybe slow. He is thoughtful. One time, he showed me this card he had bought me because he thought I'd like it. He never got around to actually mailing said card, but he thought about me and what else matters? He doesn't call often, but I have saved damn near every message he's left me because they are flipping hilarious. He makes me laugh, sometimes makes me cry, always makes me think. He is the kind of man who makes me want to be a good woman, just to make him proud. A dress and high heels and apron in the kitchen cooking dinner type of woman. He likes intelligent woman, but really really likes women with bright red lipstick and stilletos. He loves his family, and they love him. I love his family, too. His mother is my daily dose of strength, his sister is, well, amazing in every fucking way, his brother in law is funny and clever and talented and super nice and looks hot in those pants, and if he ends up even half as hot as his dad, watch out. Seriously. Yikes.

Today is Chris' birthday. Last year, he got all of this out of me. And then we all had dinner. This year, it's just the blog thing. You know, Canada kind of happened in between birthdays. So anyway, happy birthday, darling. I wish you an amazing birthday. I love you and I am lucky you call me your friend.

And so should you. From your diet, that is. You know what diets are? Fucked up, that's what they are. I said a big fat bollocks to mine and made the goshdarn best butter chicken this side of America to celebrate. I feel huge and fat and full and warm and tired. Maybe I should work out.